


Touching Evil

by sarahatqt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Possession, Season 5ish, Unintentional Lucifer/Dean Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahatqt/pseuds/sarahatqt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the looming apocalypse, Dean finally thinks he has everything he wants. But now Sam just...isn't Sam. And when the truth comes out, Dean has to think about what he's done to his little brother without his consent and what will happen once Sam is free of Lucifer's hold...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love You. Miss You. Wish You Were...You.

“Dean, you know I love you, right?”

Dean stopped sifting through his duffel bag for a first aid kit and turned around to face his younger brother. Sam was sitting on the edge of his motel bed, forearms resting on his thighs and hands clasped tightly. His head was lowered, his shoulders hunched and shaking. Blood gushed from his left brow, coating half of his face in bright crimson.

Before Dean could answer the question, Sam continued. “Because it's only...a matter of time before neither one of us gets the chance to say it.”

The older Winchester wilted, glancing back into his duffel briefly before giving up the search and sitting back on his heels. “Sam, do we have to do this now?”

“Well, we could wait until Lucifer tries to take over my body _again_ ,” Sam suggested, shifting his head slightly. “Or maybe Michael will come after you this time.” The young man's stringy hair trembled as a strange noise tore itself from his throat. “Do you think they're taking turns?”

“Stop it!” Dean barked, and Sam went quiet. 

With a deep, steadying breath, Dean turned back to the duffel bag. The first aid kit was in a side pocket, where Sam had told Dean he would put it so he wouldn't have to dig through the whole bag to find it. The older man snatched the thing up with a frustrated growl and stood, stomping to the motel bathroom, grabbing several towels, and filling the empty ice bucket with warm water. 

Sam was still shaking. Dean had done his best to cover all the treatments of shock, but his younger brother still seemed a little out of it. He wet a washcloth and placed it on the back of Sam's neck, encouraging the young man to lean further forward and take deep breaths. 

“That's it, Sammy. Just breathe. You're all right.”

He carefully cleaned Sam's face, doing what he could to staunch the blood flow before guiding his brother back across the bed so that his gangly legs hung off one side and his head was cushioned near the other edge so that Dean could get to it from above. 

“This is going to hurt,” Sam said softly, watching Dean thread string through a sewing needle.

Dean paused briefly to glance down at him before resuming his work. “Well, it ain't gonna feel good,” he grumbled, frowning as Sam took another pull from a half-empty whiskey bottle the older man thought he'd confiscated earlier. The younger Winchester had been working on it since the ride back to the motel. It wasn't like him to drink so much, but what the hell? He was hurting, and Dean knew enough about whiskey _and_ hurting to know that Sam's bleeding eyebrow wasn't going to sew itself shut. “I'll try and do it quick—few stitches as possible.”

“ 'Kay,” was Sam's only response as he closed his eyes and set his jaw. 

Dean admired and hated his little brother for that kind of lax attitude about injuries. It wasn't like a split brow was life-threatening or anything, but they'd had plenty worse, and Sam generally didn't have the gumption to make a big deal out of them. 

Sighing, Dean snagged the whiskey bottle and took a long pull before setting it on the nightstand out of Sam's reach.

“Oh, that's comforting,” the young man groused, his fingers curling into his palms in anticipation.

“Don't move,” Dean chastised, leaning closer and squinting at the wound. He placed a hand on Sam's face to keep the young man still, pressing the needle against his first point of entry.

Stitching up a face was not like stitching up an arm or a leg or even an abdomen or chest. Stitches in those places could be messy and uneven—they could easily be covered up. Both Dean and Sam had plenty of scars to prove it. Sewing an eyebrow back together was tricky. Too many uneven stitches was hard to pass off as professional work, and the boys certainly didn't need anyone questioning where they were receiving medical treatment. Not to mention the scarring.

But what Dean liked least of all about stitching up a face—his brother's in particular—was the eye contact. The elder of the two could try to concentrate as hard as he liked. Sam's eyes were always on him, studying his facial expressions. It was unnerving, considering Dean's recently renewed... _development_.

Dean jumped as fingers encased the hand holding the needle to Sam's brow. The young man was staring at him with worry, a surprisingly sober look for the amount of alcohol swimming in his system.

“Dean?” he asked quietly, and Dean swallowed, Sam's eyes flickering to the movement of his throat briefly. “You're shaking.”

Clearing his throat, Dean pulled from his brother's touch. “ 'M fine.”

“You sure?” Sam attempted a chuckle, failing miserably. “ 'Cause I don't know how I feel about you patching me up if you're—” 

The popping sound of the needle piercing skin stopped Sam from continuing—well, that and the pain, Dean was sure. He noticed Sam's grip on the comforter tighten and smirked with satisfaction.

“Said I'm fine,” he murmured, pulling the string carefully and repositioning the needle. “Quit moving.”

“It hurts,” Sam whined, shifting anxiously. 

“Bitch.” The older man frowned at his work.

“Jerk,” Sam replied. 

There was a lull in the banter, and Dean was able to complete a few more clean stitches. They probably wouldn't pass Doctor Sexy's inspection, but they would do, and Sam's cut would heal nicely.

“You know though, don't you?” the young man asked drowsily.

Dean's gaze flickered briefly to his brother's unfocused gaze. “Know what?”

Sam's arm came up, his slender fingers stringing through the short hairs at the base of Dean's neck. The elder of the two stopped what he was doing, gaze shifting back to his brother's eyes and lingering. He couldn't possibly be seeing what he thought he was seeing.

“That I love you,” Sam said quietly.

Dean could smell a strong amount of whiskey on the young man's breath, and he sighed. Sam was not Sam right now.

“Yeah, little brother,” he said absently, patting the other on the cheek and attempting to pull out of his loose grasp. “I love you, too.”

Before Dean could do anything more, Sam's fingers gripped his hair painfully, pulling the older man down and mercilessly smashing their lips together.

Dean wasn't quite sure how to react to this. His nose was pressed uncomfortably against Sam's chin, his lower lip sucked between the young man's teeth. Sam drew in a sharp breath when the kiss was broken, his chest rising and falling a little more rapidly. Dean stayed very still for a moment, returning his brother's glazed stare with hard determination.

“You're drunk, Sam.”

“Yes, I am,” Sam admitted with a laugh, “and—Ow! That hurt.”

Dean tugged on the needle with more force than was probably necessary. “I have to finish your stitches,” he mumbled, resuming his work as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened. Something huge. 

Sam had kissed him— _Dean_. 

His _brother_. 

God, it was wrong. It was _wronger_ than wrong! It was _blasphemous_! What had Sam been thinking? Well, maybe that was the wrong question. Sam was drunk, didn't know what he was doing. Dean, on the other hand, was sober, was supposed to be the responsible one and take care of his younger brother, not take advantage. 

It hadn't been Dean who'd broken the kiss, after all.

Swallowing hard, he shook his head and forced his fingers to stop trembling and finish the job.

“Dean? Something wrong?” Sam asked groggily, his eyelids slipping closed.

The older man bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. “Go to sleep,” he said quietly, pulling the last stitch into place, tying the string off, and cutting the excess away. 

Sam's breathing was slow and heavy, his head slumping to the right when Dean stood up, satisfied with his work. He packed the medical things away, putting the first aid kit back where he'd found it, certain he'd forget where it was the next time one or the both of them needed it again.

A sudden lurch in his stomach had him stumbling to the bathroom and doubling over the toilet. 

It was wrong. It was so, so wrong. How could he harbor feelings like these and continue breathing? No matter that Sam's drunk alter-ego felt the same. No matter that Dean had only been having fantasies about his brother since before Sam had left for college.

The time apart hadn't helped, just made it worse; a stone in his stomach that grew and grew until he could barely stand on his own. The day that Sam had come back into this life—that Dean had forced him back into this life—was the day that the older man had finally been able to breathe again.

Dean wiped his mouth and stood, using the counter as leverage while attempting to steady himself. His vision was fogged, blurry. Blinking a few times helped to clear it some, but did little to ease his dizziness and nausea. 

What few glances he was able to give his own reflection caused his lowered spirits to drop further. His eyes were ringed with purple shadows, emphasizing his drawn cheeks. He did not look well. And neither did Sam.

The Lucifer-Michael thing was taking its tole on the brothers, and not only because of the demon blood and the _destiny_ bullshit.

Dean and Sam had been fighting. A lot. Neither could really help it; the stress was getting to both of them. Seriously—an epic apocalyptic battle that would probably last decades (if not centuries) and would result in the deaths of billions, including one (if not both) of the Winchester brothers?

Yeah. Right. That was something to sneeze at.

And it wasn't bad enough that every second of every day was filled with the thought that they might have to kill one another. Word had gotten round. _Way_ round. The Winchester brothers were big trouble, and anyone found aiding or harboring the enemy was in for the same punishment that the boys were subject to: death by slow torture. 

Dean did not relish this thought and was certain that his brother felt the same way. His hair was still sticky with blood. He'd had his own share of the beating that Sam received from Lucifer's henchmen. And he desperately needed a shower. Sam did too, of course, but Dean was not about to ruin his brother's first bout of sleep in days for such a trivial thing. He'd probably end up having to take one with him to make sure he didn't fall down in the stall—and wouldn't _that_ be an adventure....

Dean shook his head of the thought and began to undress, down to little more than his boxers when his cellphone rang. Sighing, he picked the obtrusive object up and glared at it, having to squint to read the caller ID. 

He answered with a gruff, “Yeah, Bobby?”

“You boys all right?” came the rough tone peppered with agitation and obvious relief. “I been tryin' Sam's cell nearly all night.”

“He's sleeping.” Dean decided that foregoing the detail about the whiskey was a good idea. “Patched up, doing fine.”

“Yeah?” the older man asked skeptically. “And how are you holdin' up?”

Dean closed the lid on the toilet and sat down heavily, breathing out a harsh chuckle. “You shouldn't be calling, Bobby. There's a lot of people out there that want us dead.”

“Well, I ain't one of 'em, so quit your bitchin' and answer the question.”

Dean couldn't help but smile at the remark. It was just so...Bobby. “I'm fine,” he lied, rubbing at his temple. He wished the lights had a dimmer switch. “Just tired, is all.”

“What happened to you boys?” 

Another voice murmured quietly in the background, and Bobby sighed with annoyance. 

“Cas wants to know where you are.”

“Well, remind Cas that he's human now and can't go popping in on us like he used to,” Dean spit harshly, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He swallowed hard against the silence that followed and drew in a shuddering breath. “Sorry. I'm just...tired.” Biting his tongue, he fought the tears threatening to breach the last barrier he had left. “Fuck, I'm tired.”

The words had so much meaning to them that Dean was afraid Bobby might break down and demand to know where they were, too.

Thankfully, the older hunter merely huffed and said, “You an' me both, boy.”


	2. Imagine Me and You. I Do.

Dean snorted when Sam stirred at noon the next day, the young man giving a loud groan and groping at the bed until his fingers snagged a pillow and smashed it against his face. 

“Rise and shine, Sammy,” Dean stated huskily, flipping the page of his newspaper. 

“We don't have to be anywhere, Dean,” Sam protested, his voice muffled by the pillow. 

“No, we don't,” the older man agreed, flipping another page and scanning the obituaries, “but you stink, little brother.” He folded one corner of the newspaper down and watched with satisfaction as the pillow came up just slightly and he was met with a one-eyed glare. “You need a shower.”

“I don't want a shower,” Sam whined, letting the pillow fall back over his face. 

“I didn't say you had to want one,” Dean countered with a sigh, feeling like he was talking to a much younger Sam, one that wouldn't scrub behind his ears or go to bed on time. Granted, grown-up Sam didn't do those things anyway. But whiney Sam was just a bit annoying to deal with this early in the afternoon. “I said you need one,” Dean finished, snapping his drooping newspaper and continuing to read.

The younger man was quiet for a moment before he sighed and threw the pillow back to the head of the bed and sat up. “Ah!” he cried out, instinctively reaching towards the source of the pain. “ _Ah_!” He hissed and jerked his fingers away from his brow. 

“Fresh stitches, genius,” Dean muttered, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” Sam snapped, squinting his left eye and groaning, “I got that. _Thanks_.” 

“Welcome.”

Dean peered around the newspaper and watched the hung-over young man brace his hands on the edge of the bed and attempt to haul himself up. Sam shakily made it to his feet, stumbling after the first couple of steps and crumpling completely after the following. 

Dean set his newspaper to the side, ignoring his brother's protest of “I'm fine, I got it,” and wrapping a hand around the other's well-muscled bicep. 

“Not as gangly as you used to be, Sammy,” he grunted as he hauled the younger man to his feet and steadied him. 

Sam frowned. “Is that supposed to be a fat joke?”

Dean rolled his eyes, then wrinkled his nose. “Seriously, dude, you _reek_.”

“Yeah, well....” Sam took a step and winced, holding his side and swallowing hard. “Can't go up against the devil and expect to feel hunky-dory the next day.”

“Did you just say _hunky-dory_?” Dean snorted, habitually keeping a hand on Sam's elbow as they made their way towards the bathroom.

“Think I can take it from here,” Sam said when they reached the door. He grasped the door frame tightly, his knuckles turning white and his legs trembling beneath his Sasquatch-like body. 

“If you say so.” Dean shrugged and took a step back, allowing his brother to fool himself for a moment longer before having to step in as Sam's knees buckled. 

“Maybe not,” Sam sighed with a sheepish grin. “Sorry....” 

Dean shook his head, disregarding the apology quickly and helping his helpless brother to the bathroom counter. Leaving Sam to brush his teeth, Dean started the shower and leaned against the adjacent wall. When the younger man finished, he turned and leaned back against the counter, avoiding Dean's eyes as a steady cloud of steam started to pour from the shower stall. 

Dean swallowed hard, gritting his teeth and asking, “You want... _help_ , or something?” 

Sam sucked in a tight breath, looking down at his legs as if contemplating his own strength versus stripping down in front of his older brother. After a moment, he sighed and nodded reluctantly. “Uh...Sure.”

“Okay,” the older man stated simply, looking straight ahead as Sam pulled his stained shirt over his head. Jaw muscles rippling, he clenched his teeth at the sound of rustling fabric, a button being undone and a zipper being unzipped. His thought from last night—about having to take a shower with Sam—was becoming a reality. He'd been joking...mostly. What man truly got hard at the thought of showering with his own brother? 

“Dean?” Sam asked somewhat uncertainly, and the older man's gaze flickered to the other fleetingly. Sam's hands were bunching the fabric of his pants at his hips, his long limbs trembling. “You're gonna help me in the shower...with your clothes on?”

Dean resisted the urge to blanch. Skin on skin contact—yeah, that was _exactly_ what he needed. 

“No,” he said with a jerky shake of his head, fingers fumbling at the hem of his T-Shirt and tugging it over his head. He felt a thousand pin-pricks dance up and down his arms, and he shivered, rubbing at the goosebumps self-consciously. 

“Hey,” Sam said quietly, the older man watching a blush creep onto his cheeks, “if this is going to be too weird....” 

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. “It's fine.” His fingers hesitated over the button on his pants. “Just don't.... No unnecessary contact.” He pointed a finger at the young man, giving him a look that made the young man smile shyly and even chuckle a bit. 

“Deal,” Sam agreed with a nod. Dean nodded in return and dropped his pants in one fluid motion, turning and stepping into the shower stall without another word—or another glance—in his brother's direction. 

The older man allowed the warm spray of water to wash over him for nearly thirty seconds before he swallowed and looked outside of the stall. “You, uh...coming in, Sam?”

Sam still stood where he had been before, fingers clenched around his pants and a distant look in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said absently. “Yeah, I just need a minute.”

“Okay...Take your time.” Dean wasn't normally so patient, and considering the circumstances, he just wanted it over as soon as possible. But this was Sam, the most important person in his life. Sam was strong and able to do a great many things on his own—so the fact that he was asking for help, that his little brother actually admitted to needing him, meant that Dean would move mountains, would swim oceans, and, yes, even jump into a shower naked with him. 

The shower door clicked closed, and Dean felt the presence of someone else in the stall with him. It was...different. Both the feeling and the presence. He wasn't quite certain he liked it either, but before he could think any further on it, Sam spoke. 

“Dean?”

The older man swallowed hard and turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”

“You're, um...blocking the water.”

“Oh.” Dean looked forward. “Right.” 

With an awkward sort of shuffle, the two switched places, Sam stumbling once but catching himself on the wall with a murmured curse. 

The shower was clearly not meant for more than one person—unless that one person planned on being rather intimate with another person, which in this case was altogether likely if things continued the way they were. 

Dean settled against the cold tiles at the back of the shower, trying his best not to let his eyes wander down the bumpy length of Sam's spine. His mind screamed for him to lurch forward and run his tongue along it, to feel Sam's skin, to taste the sweat and blood and grime cascading to the shower floor. 

The older man felt a familiar stirring in his stomach and swallowed the groan at the back of his throat. This was not a fantasy. This was not _alone time_. This was real. Sam was _really_ in front of him, _really_ taking a shower in the same stall that he was in, _really_...naked. 

This time, Dean let loose a small, frustrated noise. He watched Sam for a reaction, relaxing when the young man continued to shower, oblivious. 

Sam was scrubbing at his hair with dirty fingers, the shampoo lather a disgusting shade of red-brown. His hair was even longer when it was wet, Dean observed, and without the slight curl at the ends that generally made him look like a priss, the youngest Winchester was actually kind of...hot. 

Abruptly, Sam turned, tilting his head back into the water and exposing his throat. Funny how they weren't on guard in the shower—like the stall had its own force field around it. Normally Dean would be—on guard, that is—even in the shower. But something about having Sam there with him, barring all awkward moments and incestuous thoughts, kept him at ease. 

Sam's eyelids lifted somewhat, and Dean looked away quickly, annoyed to find that he had been staring. 

“You okay?” the younger man asked, as if they weren't standing stark naked right next to each other. “If you really don't want to be in here, Dean, I think—” 

Dean had to shut him up. 

Because as awkward as it was, how many other opportunities was he going to get? If Sam kicked him out now, he might not find another chance—especially before....

Dean stepped forward, arms outstretched and palms flat against the wall on either side of the young man, boxing him in. 

“Sam,” Dean whispered uncertainly, taking a deep breath. 

And then Sam lurched forward, arms encircling the older man's waist and lips latching onto his. Dean only managed a small noise of surprise before instinct took over. His fingers curled around Sam's hips, and he angled his head to deepen the kiss, backing against the wall and using it for support as Sam pressed against him. 

Again, it was not Dean that broke the kiss. Sam tilted his head back slightly, placing a hand on the older man's shoulder and closing his eyes. Their chests heaved, their breath mingled, their limbs shook. 

“Dean,” Sam wheezed, his grip on the other's shoulder tightening. Water dripped down his face and off his chin, and Dean had to stop himself from leaning back in for another kiss. 

“I'm sorry,” the elder of the two blurted, though his hold on Sam did not waver. “Sammy, I don't...I don't know why I....”

Sam shook his head. “No, it's okay.” 

“It's not,” Dean argued, gritting his teeth. “This is so not—” 

“Dean.”

The elder brother's legs nearly buckled. How could one name— _his_ name—hold so much power? How could Sam say this was okay? How could either of them feel this way without the wrath of God striking them down? 

Maybe they should get out of the shower....

“How long,” Sam started, his words slow and careful, “have you felt like this?”

Dean smirked. “A while.”

“And it's taken you this long?”

The older man hesitated. “Yeah, I guess it has.”

A silent moment passed between them, wherein the only thing of significance to occur was the drop in temperature of the water. 

Sam shivered. “This isn't going to work.”

Dean's stomach plummeted. “Oh.”

The younger hunter smiled and rolled his eyes. “The shower stall, Dean. It's not big enough.”

“Right.” Relief washed over him. “The bed, then.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “The bed.”

0 o 0 o 0

It wasn't hardcore sex. There was little lubrication (just enough for friction purposes), no fingers shoved into certain orifices, no mouths anywhere near the other's gear. But fuck if there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of pleasure in it anyway. 

Dean collapsed onto his brother's chest, their cum squishing between the two of them and slicking their bellies. 

“Oh, that is disgusting,” Sam laughed, and Dean loved the sound of it beneath his ear. 

“You need another shower.”

The younger man scoffed indignantly. “ _We_ need another shower.”

“That's a dangerous idea,” Dean said, shifting his hips slightly. 

“A risk I'm willing to take,” Sam admitted as his breath hitched. 

Dean pursed his lips and swallowed hard, propping up on his elbows and giving the younger man a hard look. “You sure?”

“What?”

“Is it worth it? This...whatever it is?” 

Sam's eyebrows furrowed, and he sat up, forcing Dean to do the same. With an extraordinary amount of calm, he strung his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Dean's head and pulled him into a soft kiss. 

Dean lost himself. He loved the feel of Sam—with him, near him, on him. Just his presence was enough to set him off. 

He groaned when Sam pulled away. It was almost painful. 

“Always,” the young man said sincerely. “You are always worth it, Dean.”

Dean smiled goofily and chuckled. “Then we definitely need another shower.”


	3. You Were Driving Circles. Around Me.

“Bobby!” Dean called as he and Sam entered the elder hunter's home. Both boys unceremoniously dropped duffels filled with dirty laundry in the entry way, mud-caked boots stomping on the welcome mat. 

“Kitchen!” was their only response, and if the layer of frustration coating Bobby's tone was any indication, they were in for something unexpected. 

“It's an electrical appliance. How could it know that I am staring at it?” Cas asked in wonder. 

Dean entered the kitchen first, having to suppress the urge to burst into laughter. 

“It's a _toaster_ ,” Bobby grumbled, stirring something in a skillet on the stove. “And it's just one of those things. It ain't gonna do anything while you're lookin' at it.”

“Have you considered the possibility that your toaster is possessed?”

“My _toaster_ ain't possessed!”

“I don't know, Bobby,” Dean cut in as seriously as possible. Castiel turned around to face them. “Maybe we should look into that.”

The toaster popped, blackened bread escaping the smoking confines. 

Bobby snorted. “Told ya.”

But Cas wasn't even remotely interested anymore. In fact, he seemed mesmerized by something over Dean's shoulder. 

“Cas?” Dean asked uncertainly. 

“Lucifer,” the angel whispered. 

Bobby stopped stirring, looking to Castiel and then to where he was staring. Dean, too, turned, his eyebrows furrowing as he shook his head. 

“No,” he said, looking back to the angel-turned-human. “It's Sam.”

“Dean.” Castiel's hand twitched. “Come over here.”

“Cas—” 

“Get away from him, Dean,” the angel demanded harshly, reaching for him. 

Dean stepped away, looking back to his brother. “Sam....”

But he could see it now—the change. The face was Sam's, but the way it was twisted.... The body was Sam's, but the way he held himself.... The eyes were Sam's, but the way they stared back at Dean....

He knew. 

“You're not Sam.”

“Not by a long shot.”

0 o 0 o 0

Bobby and Cas were plastered to the kitchen cabinets, able to hear everything in the den, where Dean and his not-brother circled each other. 

“How long?” Dean asked, his voice husky and his boots heavy against the wooden boards. 

“Since the fight,” Sam's voice replied coolly. 

Dean shook his head. “He wouldn't have sad yes.”

Lucifer chuckled, and it was a sound that Dean had never heard come out of his younger brother's mouth before. “How do you know?” The words were quiet, taunting. “How well do you know him?”

“He's my brother.”

“Is he?”

Dean paused. “What do you mean?”

“You've had your doubts, haven't you?” Lucifer asked with a shrug, his smile maddening. Dean hated that smile on Sam's lips. “Since the yellow-eyed demon put the thought into your head. You brought Sam back. But from where?”

Dean didn't know. He'd never pressed the subject because Sam said he hadn't remembered. _Did_ Sam remember? Was Sam really _Sam_?

“I can hear those cogs grinding away, Dean. That's a lot of thinking for a little hunter to do on his own. Would you like a hint?”

Dean swallowed and took in a shallow breath. “What do you want?”

“I have what I want,” Lucifer said without hesitation. “Sam is all I need.”

“Don't get too comfortable,” the hunter warned dangerously. “You won't have him for too much longer.”

“I beg to differ.” The tone of Sam's voice made Dean shiver. “Who is it you slept with, Dean?”

_Oh no...._

“Because it wasn't Sam.”

“Shut up.” _Wow. Great comeback, Dean. What, are you in elementary school?_

“You think Sam is really that perverted?” Lucifer continued, teeth gleaming as he smiled. “He's disgusted, Dean. He doesn't even want to _look_ at you.”

“Shut. Your _mouth_.” It couldn't be true. Sam wouldn't hate him. Would he? It's not like he _forced_....

But Sam hadn't been Sam. Sam couldn't say no. Dean had...had....

“Oh, God,” Dean choked. He felt sick. He wanted to run. 

“We have a special place in hell for people like you, Dean—people who rape their younger brothers.”

“I didn't...I _didn't_...No.” Dean shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the thought. 

“Should we ask Sammy?” Lucifer goaded. 

As soon as the words were out, Sam's demeanor changed. His eyes swiveled around the den wildly, he wavered on his feet and breathed harshly, shallowly. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked with hesitation, and the younger man jumped. Dean reached out to him, but Sam immediately backed away. 

“No!” he shouted, knocking into a bookshelf and gripping it until his knuckles turned white. “Don't! Stay back!”

Dean's stomach dropped out, his shoulders slumping defeatedly. “Sam, please....”

“No, Dean,” Sam said desperately. “Go. _Go_! You have to get _out_.”

“I won't leave you. I know...I know you hate me—” 

“I don't.” Sam swallowed, his breathing still harsh. “I don't. I _don't_. But Dean—” He winced. “—you have to leave. _Please_. Take Bobby and Cas. _Go_.”

The older man was taken aback. Sam didn't hate him? Sam wasn't revolted? Disgusted?

Sam's body jerked violently. “Dean, I can only hold him for so long. You have to—” 

“Okay,” Dean said with a nod. “All right. I'll get Bobby and Cas out.”

Sam looked relieved, and he nodded frantically, gesturing toward the den's doors. 

0 o 0 o 0

Dean braced himself before entering the kitchen. There was no way Bobby and Cas hadn't heard their conversation—these damn walls were so thin. 

They were waiting for him, standing in the center of the kitchen. He closed the sliding doors quickly and leaned back against them. 

“Dean,” Bobby said softly, his expression unreadable, “what in the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

“I don't know,” Dean said pathetically, looking away. “I don't _know_....”

“Dean, what you've done—” Cas started, his holier-than-thou tone irking the young hunter to no end. 

“I don't need you to tell me what I've done!” Dean shouted. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times. “You need to leave. Sam...Sam won't hold on much longer.”

“You're coming with us,” Bobby stated matter-of-factly. “We'll find another way to help Sam. Staying here and getting ourselves killed won't do any good.”

“I can't leave him,” Dean argued. “I won't. He's strong, Bobby. He'll beat this.”

Bobby huffed incredulously. “It's the damn devil, boy. Sam is strong, but—” 

“He'll be stronger if I'm here to fight with him.” The young man set his jaw determinedly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Then let us stay,” Castiel insisted. “Let us help you. You're no match for him alone.”

“And how, exactly, are you going to help me while you're plastered to the wall?” Dean demanded. “How are you going to help me if you get yourselves killed?”

“Dean!” Sam's desperate voice called from the den. “Dean, I can't.... Get them out!”

Dean looked at the two men pleadingly. “Go. _Please_.”

Bobby started to shake his head, but Castiel took the older hunter's arm. “All right,” he said. “We'll be nearby.”

“No,” Dean said fiercely. “Get as far from here as you can.”

There were no more words exchanged. Bobby and Cas left through the back door, and a great sense of... _loss_ took hold of the young man. It was probably the last time he would ever see them....

Dean had never felt so alone in his life—not even when Sam had died, or when he'd been in hell. 

Taking a breath, he turned back to the door and steeled himself. This was it. Sam was probably already gone again. Lucifer was waiting for him, and who knew what he would do? Kill him? Force him to say yes to Michael?

Or maybe just torture him with thoughts of what he'd done to Sam. 

What he'd done to his little brother. 

Dean frowned. Lucifer's plan had backfired on him. Sam hadn't used his freedom to tell Dean how disgusted he was with him—he'd used it to help them escape. Sam had said he didn't hate him. 

Was it the truth? Or had he really wanted Dean to leave? To go away forever?

Well, there was only one way to find out....

Gripping the door handles tightly, Dean slid them open, stepping into the room and waiting. He carefully searched the den with his eyes. Usually in instances like these, if the monster wasn't in front of you, it was behind you. 

Dean's gut clenched as he carefully turned his head, first over his right shoulder, then over his left. 

Nothing. 

“Sam?” 

No answer. 

“Lucifer?”

Still no answer. No sounds. No trace of his brother. 

Sam was gone.


	4. I Could Go For Something With You. I Could Go Away.

Sam could feel himself slipping, could sense Lucifer beating against his defenses. Cracks were forming in the walls he'd erected to cage the intruder. He had to think of something fast—as weak as Lucifer was without demon blood in his system, he was still too strong to take on for very long. 

But what could he do? What did the devil desire more than vengeance?

Sam hesitated, then said strongly, “I want to make a deal.”

The pounding ceased, and there was quiet for a long moment before Lucifer spoke: “What sort of deal?” His voice was different in Sam's head; soft, breathy, almost like a... _hiss_. 

“A deal to spare my brother and my friends.”

“And why,” the voice asked, slow and careful, “would I want to do that?”

“Because I know there's something you want,” the young hunter stated boldly. 

“ _You're_ all I want, Sam,” Lucifer corrected, making a noise that Sam assumed was a laugh. 

“But you don't have me, yet.” Sam strengthened his hold just a little, pressed against Lucifer's cage for emphasis. “You've traded one prison for another.”

Lucifer made an angry sound and banged against the wall. “You won't keep me here forever.”

“And you won't stop me from fighting you,” the young man countered quickly, “unless you take this deal.”

Sam could feel Lucifer’s anger, the heat of its smolder; so hot it felt like he was freezing. The fires of hell itself seemed to have followed the devil on his way out....

“What is the deal?”

“Dean goes free. My friends remain unharmed. No one I know gets hurt.”

“And in return?”

“I won't fight you,” Sam stated in defeat. “Drink as much demon blood as you want, kill whoever you like except Dean and the others. I won't stop you.”

“And if Dean falls to Michael? If he says yes, what then?” Lucifer sounded genuinely curious about the deal, intrigued that Sam would allow any of these things. 

The young man let his hold slip slightly, let the confidence in his words waver just a bit. “Well, he won't be Dean then, will he?” he answered darkly. 

One last burst of energy, and the cage crumbled, Lucifer's presence over-powering Sam completely. 

The voice hissed in laughter. “Deal.”

0 o 0 o 0

Dean found Bobby and Cas quickly enough—a phone call confirmed they hadn't gone very far, despite the young hunter's warning. They searched the house from top to bottom. Sam was nowhere to be found. 

“I don't get it,” Dean murmured as the three of them sat in Bobby's den. Why didn't he leave as soon as he had Sam? Why come here?”

Bobby shrugged, but Cas watched Dean with dark eyes. “How long have you harbored feelings for your brother?”

Shifting uncomfortably, the young man shook his head and faltered. “Uh...Not long, I guess.” He glanced at Bobby, who had a stoic look on his face. “Can this wait? I think we should work on finding Sam.”

“This may be the answer to finding him,” the angel said curtly. Dean had never heard him like this before. “Lucifer feeds from these kinds of feelings. He manipulates until his victims fall to their desires.”

“So he was playing off of what I...feel for Sam,” Dean stated, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. 

“Or what Sam feels for you.”

0 o 0 o 0

Dean ended the conversation, left the room entirely. He couldn't stand Cas's condescending tone, Bobby's unrelenting gaze. He could barely stand being there with _himself_. 

How had things gotten so messed up? Cas could be right; Lucifer could be manipulating them. But the fact remained that those feelings had been present _long_ before the devil had gotten hold of either of the Winchester boys. At least on Dean's end.

_Can't manipulate something that isn't there, though, right?_

The eldest Winchester sat down heavily on the front porch stairs, opening a bottle of beer he'd grabbed from the fridge on his way out. Behind him, the screen door squeaked then clattered shut. 

“Dean?” Bobby's tone was quiet, and the young hunter hunched his shoulders. He didn't want to have this conversation. _Especially_ with the man who had become very much of a father figure to him and his brother. 

For the first time in his life, Dean was actually _grateful_ that John Winchester was dead. What would their father have done? Said?

The stairs creaked as Bobby eased down beside him. “Dean....” he tried again, sighing and shaking his head. “I'm sorry, but I really don't know what to say. How to... _handle_ this.”

“You don't have to say anything, Bobby.” Dean took a long swig of his beer. “Matter of fact, I'd prefer if you didn't.”

“ _Somethin's_ gotta be said here, boy,” the older man warned. “And neither one of us is gonna like it.”

A quiet moment stretched between them before Dean spoke. “I know.” He paused to take a deep, shuddering breath. “I know what I've done...and what I _feel_...is wrong.” Closing his eyes, he shook his head and fought the stinging behind his eyes. “And I've tried my damnedest to keep it hidden away. But it's been so long...so _long_ since I put those feelings away.” Bobby opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off. “I told Cas it hasn't been for very long, and it _hasn't_ …for a while.” He opened his eyes and turned to his friend pleadingly, unable to keep a few tears from escaping. “But this…I can’t stop it. I can’t hide it or burn it or bury it. It’s in me, and it’s…it’s tearing me apart.” With a gasp, Dean ducked his head, his shoulders trembling. “I'm breaking, Bobby.”

The older man studied Dean for only a moment before gathering him in his arms and hugging him fiercely. 

0 o 0 o 0

Sam let go.

He buried himself until Lucifer's cackling was near nonexistent, until he could shut away the sound of screaming, the sight of people dying at his own hands. He was relentless, unmerciful. 

And Sam could feel the satisfaction blanketing him like a thick fog. There was no way to stop...or be stopped. 

But Dean would be safe. And so would Cas and Bobby. That's what made it so easy to give in, to release all he'd been fighting for. Because even if he was responsible for the end, for billions of deaths, he would never forgive himself if his brother, the savior of the world, died before the grand finale.

Dean would find him and set him free, even if it meant Sam had to die. 

Which the young man would do gladly. 

0 o 0 o 0

“Our only hope is the rings.”

Dean shook his head at Castiel's words and closed the book he was holding, rubbing at his tired eyes. “We use the rings, and Sam goes to hell.” 

“We don't have any other options,” the angel argued. 

Dean grit his teeth and glared. “Is that _angel-speak_ for 'you're going to hell anyway so what's the point'?”

“Boys,” Bobby warned from his desk, eyes not leaving the book he was reading, “this ain't helping matters.”

“Yeah?” the younger hunter demanded testily. “Well, neither is he, giving me that damn look.”

“What look?” Castiel asked, though by the tone of his voice he knew exactly what look. 

“That one. The one that says you know better than me.”

“Incest is a sin, Dean.”

“Says who? The _Bible_?”

“The Bible is the word of God.”

“Written by _uptight, homophobic men_!” Dean was on his feet, his chest heaving and his fists clenched. “I am sick and tired of hearing you preach, Cas. You're not even an angel anymore!”

“I still have _faith_ ,” Castiel argued, standing and bringing himself up to his full height. Not as impressive when he didn't have the presence of an angel, but enough to show confidence in his words. 

“Then why can't you have faith in _me_?” Dean countered angrily. “Why can't you see that I'm still _Dean Winchester_? That I'm fighting just as hard today as I was yesterday?”

Cas was quiet.

Stepping out from behind his desk, Bobby placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and squeezed. “We know that, Dean.” He gave the angel a stern look. “And when we get Sam back, we'll talk about this. But right now we need to concentrate on finding him.”

“And put Lucifer back where he belongs,” Cas added, sitting back down and retrieving a book from the floor. 

Dean and Bobby slowly followed suit, sharing a look that said it was going to be a long night.


	5. I'll Be Fine Once I Get It. I'll Be Good.

Dean dreamed of Sam—the smell of his hair and the feel of his skin, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and how his broad shoulders shook when he laughed. 

_Sam’s hungry mouth finds his, their teeth clicking against one another’s and their tongues clashing. The act is starved, desperate. Wet and warm and SamSamSammy._

He dreamed of sweat and tangled limbs, of Sam’s whispers in his ear. 

_So perfect, Dean. I want everything, all of you. Love you. Need you. Always, always. Please, Dean. Please._

He dreamed of heat, of fingernails digging into his arms and scratching down his chest, of Sam’s palm flat on his stomach, pushing him down onto the bed.

_Sam lays his full weight on Dean, presses him into the mattress. Dean wraps his legs around the younger man’s thin, muscular waist and grinds up against him, throwing his head back with a gasp and gripping the bed sheets so tightly that his fists shake._

Lucifer couldn't take these things, couldn't change them. 

_Love you, Sam. Love you, Sammy.  
So much, so much, so much._

Sam would always be Sam...he hoped. 

0 o 0 o 0

He was shaken awake abruptly, jolting in his chair. The book he'd been reading fell to the floor with a dull _thud_. Glancing around wildly, he tried to remember where he was— _Bobby's_ —what he'd been doing— _researching uselessly for a way to help Sam_ —who he'd been with— _Bobby, Cas...who hated him now after everything they'd been through together._

Dean wished he could go back to sleep. Being awake hurt too much. 

“Bobby?” he asked huskily, squinting up at the swirling face looming over him. 

“Dean,” Bobby said breathlessly, a heavy hand still on the young man's shoulder, “it's Cas.”

Dean sat up, looking around the room with a frantic gaze. “What happened?” He looked back at the older hunter. “Where is he?”

Sighing, Bobby readjusted his cap and shrugged. “ _Gone_.”

0 o 0 o 0

There was a plan. Probably not a very _good_ plan, but one nonetheless. He had to find Lucifer before Dean and Bobby. Because Dean was right—the young hunter was still the same person, he still wanted good to prevail as much as Castiel did. And even God loved sinners. 

It was just difficult to deviate from something he'd been aware of since his creation. He knew the Bible backwards and forwards, could recite each verse without hesitation. And it was clear that what Dean and Sam were doing was wrong—even forgoing the fact that they were both men, which Castiel had never put much thought into anyway. Sexual preference did not concern him as much as incest did.

But was there truth to Dean's words? The Bible _had_ been written by men--flawed, _human_ men. Surely the Lord would not allow it to be called _The Word of God_ if it wasn't....

Castiel closed his eyes and frowned. “Brother,” he said softly, “I am here.”

“Yes,” a familiar voice said from the shadows of the warehouse Castiel had found his way to, “you are.”

Sam stepped into the dim light. 

0 o 0 o 0

Sam sensed the presence and awakened just enough energy to put force behind a warning. “We made a deal.”

“I won't start anything if he doesn't,” Lucifer said with a low chuckle. “But my brother called me. How can I refuse him?”

“Lucifer—” 

“Settle down, Sammy. Let's see what he has to offer....”

0 o 0 o 0

“Let me join your side,” Castiel said flatly. The air of the warehouse was stale in his mouth. 

“Join my side,” Lucifer said slowly, beginning to circle him. “And what do I need you for?”

Castiel shook his head. “Nothing,” he admitted. 

The Sam impersonator laughed. “At least you're honest. Even a demon would be more useful than you. And they don't want anything to do with me.”

“You don't need them.”

“No, I don't.”

“But it's lonely.”

This made Lucifer pause, hesitation on his face. 

Castiel continued. “You killed Gabriel. You drove the demons away.” The other made no move to respond to the observations. “This front that you've put up, wanting to be alone—” 

“But I'm _not_ alone,” Lucifer interrupted, starting up his careful pacing again. “Not anymore. I have Sam.”

“He's fighting you. He'll win. Sam is stronger than you realize.”

“I know how strong he is,” Lucifer replied with a half-shrug. “That's why he was chosen for me.” A lecherous smile took his lips. “And, surprisingly enough, he's being rather docile.”

Castiel faltered. “He wouldn't give in to you so easily.”

“Sam and I have an understanding.”

“I want to speak with him.”

Lucifer let loose a bark of laughter, the sound echoing in the large space and seeming to stir the air around them. “I don't think so,” he said, shaking his head just slightly. “Once is enough to learn a lesson.” 

“I want to speak with him,” Castiel repeated with force. “You said yourself, he's not fighting you.”

“Sam doesn't want to play today.”

“Please,” Cas pleaded, venturing a step forward and resisting the urge to reach out. “ _Please_ , Sam. I need...I need to speak with you.”

For a moment, Sam's rigid posture stayed in place, his gaze sharp. But then it fell away, and the young man's face twisted in anguish before his legs collapsed from under him and he sank to his knees. 

Castiel didn't realize he'd moved until he was grasping Sam's upper arms, squeezing and shaking. “Sam.”

Sam reached out and weakly took hold of the lapels on the former-angel's coat. “Cas...Cas....”

“Listen to me,” Castiel demanded. “This is important. Can you hear me, Sam?”

“Yes,” the young hunter breathed, nodding once and swaying slightly. “Cas... 'm tired...so tired....”

Castiel cupped Sam's jaw in one hand gently and raised his head so that they were eye to eye. “I know,” he said, his tone apologetic. “He's draining your energy. He doesn't trust me.”

“Or me,” Sam stated flatly, though his attempted smile indicated it had been meant as a joke. “Dean...and Bobby....”

“They're looking for a way to help you.”

“They won't find one,” the young man stated with defeat. His head lolled to one side, and his eyes began to close.

Cas shook him again. “Sam, you have to stay awake, Just for another moment.”

“Can't...Can't....”

“I need you to do something for me. Please, Sam. _Listen_.”

Sam shook his head, a sound escaping his throat that could have been a hysterical laugh, a sob, or something in between. “Can't fight...Can't....”

“I don't need you to fight,” Castiel assured him, and Sam looked up with dazed, pain-filled eyes. The former angel took a deep breath and steeled himself for what he was about to ask of the young man. Sam would not be happy with him. Dean was already angry. But Cas had to fix this, had to put right what he had, in Dean's words, _fucked up_. 

The Winchesters were the most important part of his life—now as a human and then as an angel. He'd been waiting his entire existence to meet them. He could not turn his back on them now. 

“Sam,” he said carefully, making sure the young man was looking at him, was hearing what he was about to say, “I need you to let Lucifer kill me.”

0 o 0 o 0

Dean was becoming frantic. Sam was gone—in more than one sense. Cas had disappeared—or abandoned them. 

The young hunter pressed the heels of his palms into his eyelids. “We,” he stated simply and matter-of-factly, “are so fucked.”

Bobby sat at his desk in the den, an unopened bottle of whiskey staring back at him. There wasn't much else to do but agree with the young man, and since Dean didn't really seem in the mood to hear his worst thoughts confirmed, Bobby kept his mouth shut. 

Dean stood abruptly and began pacing in front of the desk. “Okay,” he said confidently, his tone firm. “The way I see it, we've got a couple of options, here.” He offered Bobby a cursory glance before raising a finger. “One, we do nothing.”

“Which means the end of the world,” the older man commented dryly, eyeing the whiskey with serious consideration. 

“Two.” Dean held up a second finger, spinning on his heels and pacing back the other way. “I say _yes_ to Michael.”

“Which still means the end of the world.” Bobby's fingers twitched, and he bit the inside of his cheek. He really wanted that drink. 

Dean stopped pacing and turned to his long-time friend—his friend who was currently more interested in Jack Daniels than offering something helpful. 

“Bobby, I think there's only one outcome here.” The older man finally looked up at him. “And the only choice we can make is _how_ it's going to happen.”

“Oh, I don't know,” an annoyingly familiar voice said from the kitchen. “I think I prefer Plan C.”

Dean whipped around, Bobby leaning to the right to see around the young man.

“What's the matter? Not happy to see me? I thought you'd be _thrilled_.”

Dean choked. “Gabriel?”


	6. Remind Me Of Another Place And Time.

Castiel had told Sam to kill him. Well, to allow _Lucifer_ to kill him. But what was the difference? The former angel would die at _Sam’s_ hands, something that the young hunter would never be able to live with.

“No,” Sam whispered, hands that felt like dead weights reaching up and fisting the fabric of Castiel's coat at the shoulders. “No, I won't let him.” He swallowed and closed his eyes. 

“Sam—” Cas attempted, but Sam abruptly pushed him away. 

“ _No_!”

Cas fell backwards, staring with wide eyes up at the young hunter towering over him. 

“No,” Sam repeated, quieter this time. His fists shook at his sides. “I made this deal so you and Dean and Bobby would _live_.” He clenched his teeth, and an angry sound gurgled in the back of his throat. “ _Not_ so you could beg to die.”

“Sam,” Cas reasoned, raising a hand but making no move to stand, “you're feeding from Lucifer's rage. This isn't you.”

“Why shouldn't it be?” Sam shouted. “I heard you, Cas! I heard what you said to Dean! How you think we're... _wrong_! Screwed up!”

“I didn't—”

“How could you say that about us? About _Dean_?” Cas had to slink back slightly. Sam's words were becoming vicious, his eyes alight with an anger that wasn't his own...or perhaps not _wholly_ his own. “He's been nothing but _loyal_! He's gone against me and Bobby because of _you_!” 

Sam stepped forward. “ _You_ and your 'holy mission from God' that he doesn't even _believe_ in. But he does it! Because he _trusts_ you. Because the whole God damn world is falling apart, and he thinks you're the only one he can depend on.” 

A flick of Sam's wrists, and Cas was on his feet, facing the young man almost nose to nose. He was tapping into Lucifer's powers. “ _Why_? Why is it that I would give _anything_ to have that trust, and he gives it to his condemner instead?”

Cas swallowed hard. He was trapped in one spot, unable to move away from Sam and the anger emanating from him in waves. 

Lucifer still had enough control to stop this from happening. But Castiel knew he wouldn't. 

He was enjoying the show. 

0 o 0 o 0

“You're _dead_ ,” Dean stated. “You _died_.”

Gabriel smiled, taking a step into the den. “Give me a little more credit, Dean. I _am_ the Trickster, after all. I didn't learn _everything_ from my brother.”

“But....” Dean was completely dumb-struck. _How? Why?_ He'd thought that Gabriel had finally done something worth a shit, had realized he was being an asshat and attempted to help the Winchesters. “You _were_ dead! You gave us a _porno_!”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “He what?”

Dean waved him off absently, his focus still on the angel. “So where have you been?”

Gabe shrugged and leaned against the door frame. “Here and there.”

“Here and there,” the young man repeated with a huff. “Things are going to _shit_ , and you're just...'here and there'?”

“Hey, I _tried_ ,” the angel protested, straightening and taking a step towards them. “I gave it my best shot. And I got an angel blade to the _gut_ for my troubles.”

“Well, you've made a _miraculous_ recovery,” Dean accused. “And while you've been _dead_ , things have been getting worse.”

“I wouldn't say _all_ of it, though, eh Dean?” Gabe offered him a wide grin. “If you boys had told me you swung that way, I would have been a little more eager to help out.”

Dean resisted the urge to punch the Trickster, instead concentrating on keeping the blood from pooling into his face. Squaring his shoulders, he took a breath and held it a moment before releasing it in a thick gust. “What do you mean,” he started slowly, annoyed to find a tremor in his voice, “by a 'Plan C'?”

Gabriel studied the young man with a sly, narrowed gaze. He had a small window of opportunity here to make his case before Dean refused his help. He could play later—the threesome offers would have to wait. 

“I can take you to Sam.”

The hair on the back of Dean's neck stood on end. “And?”

The angel frowned. “ _And_ what?”

“ _And_ what do you propose to do once you've done that?” This question was from Bobby. The older man stood and walked around his desk until he was at Dean's side. “You plan to confront your brother again?”

Gabriel looked the older hunter up and down. Bobby Singer. He hadn't actually had the pleasure of meeting him until now—though if the man's fatherly role to the Winchester boys was as strong as was rumored, the angel would not find a friend in him. He seemed more Crowley’s type anyway….

“No,” Gabe admitted. “I was sort of banking on _Dean's_ cooperation there.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “What is it, exactly, you think I can do?”

“He can hear you, Dean.” The angel's tone was serious, his gaze unwavering. “You speak, he listens. If you're there, he has a better chance of fighting for control.”

“Then what?” the young man demanded. “We feed Sam to hell? Make sure Lucifer goes back to his cage by _condemning_ an innocent?”

“Sam's _far_ from innocent, wouldn't you say?” Gabriel countered quickly, and there was a long pause between the three of them before the angel continued. “I have a plan.”

“Is it like your _last_ plan? 'Cause I gotta say, _Gabe_ , that one kind of _bit_.” Dean scowled. 

Shaking his head, Gabriel attempted a smile. “Never do the same trick twice,” he said quietly. “There's no way Luci will see this one coming.” He glanced between the two men. “And if we play our cards right, Sam won't have to take the plunge.” 

Dean swallowed hard, sharing a look with Bobby before asking, “How?”

The angel extended a hand. “Come with me.”

Dean hesitated. “What about Bobby? And Cas?”

“Gramps has to stay here,” Gabe replied, ignoring the huff of indignation from the older hunter. “Cas is waiting for us.”

“Waiting?”

“This is _his_ plan,” Gabriel admitted, hand still outstretched. “You don't think I'd come here out of the goodness of my heart, do you?”

Dean didn't like it. He didn't like that Gabe was here asking him to go off to somewhere unknown, to leave his friend behind unprotected. He didn't like how confident the angel seemed—look what it had gotten them last time. He didn't like not knowing the plan. And he _definitely_ did not like how Gabe talked about Sam. 

But it wasn't as if he had many options.

“You're sure this will work?” he asked. “Sam won't have to go to hell?”

“If all goes according to plan,” Gabe said with a knowing smile, “we'll have you and Sam home before bedtime.”

Dean frowned at the jest, looking to Bobby for advice. “What do you think?”

The older man stared at Gabriel's hand a moment before looking at Dean and saying, “I think it's up to you, boy.”

Dean wanted more than that—he wanted the famous Bobby Singer advice that gave him the confidence to do what he had to do. He wanted it, but things were different. Bobby would probably never look at him the same way again, would never offer the same advice or make the same jokes. They would pretend things were normal. But they never really would be. 

Dean wouldn't be able to bear it without his brother. 

“I'm bringing him back,” he said quietly. Bobby nodded and offered him a tight smile, which forced Dean to look away and grab Gabe's hand as quickly as possible. 

Because it wasn't the same smile, either.

0 o 0 o 0

Castiel felt a very unpleasant tugging sensation on his insides. Sam was going to kill him—he had no qualms about this. But the fact that Lucifer was fueling the rage in the young man—was the very source of it—made the former angel regretful of even asking for death. He should have seen it coming. 

“Sam.” It was a last ditch effort. Maybe he couldn't convince Sam to keep him alive, but he could at least make sure the young man didn't blame himself when he realized what he'd done. 

“I used to have so much _faith_ ,” Sam fumed. “And then _you_ had to come along.”

Castiel's shoulders slumped. The truth was most often harder to accept than a lie, and it was true that, concerning the Winchesters at least, the angels had done more harm than good. “I'm sorry, Sam.” 

“You've _ruined_ my belief system. You've _ripped_ my family to shreds. Why the hell are you sorry _now_?” The tugging sensation intensified, and the former angel's knees buckled. “Why couldn't you have been sorry _months_ ago? _Years_ ago? Why couldn't you _stop_ any of this from happening?”

Castiel grunted and bunched the fabric of his shirt at his abdomen. He could feel things beginning to tear inside him. 

Sam stood tall over him, hands clenched into shaking fists. “Where is He now? Your _Father_?” 

Cas forced himself to look up, his body trembling with pain and his throat constricting around his words as he spoke. “He is here.” He winced as something bitter and coppery pooled on the back of his tongue. “He's with me...and with you.” 

Sam scowled and shook his head. “I don't believe you.”

And for the first time in a very long while—he couldn't remember how long—Castiel smiled genuinely, his normally pristine teeth slick with blood. “Yes. You do.”

0 o 0 o 0

It was a warehouse, a massive storage unit for some off-brand company that sold in bulk for less. Dean didn't really care, but his mind absorbed the information anyway. _Know your surroundings_ , the voice in his head recited in pure John Winchester fashion. 

“He's here?” he asked into the dim, dust stirring around the cardboard boxes that stated the company's name. _Former company, from the looks of it_. 

“Yes,” Gabriel stated simply, quietly. 

_Close by, then_. 

Dean did not wait for the angel to take the lead. He started off to his left, listening intently for any sounds that might clue him in as to where—

There was a sudden noise to the right from behind a pile of boxes; a loud _pop-squish-splat_ that Dean seriously hoped wasn't what he thought it was. The time for stealth and tact was over. Rounding the boxes with Gabriel on his heels, the young hunter halted abruptly. The surrounding floor and boxes were coated in thick, bright red, wet chunks of fabric and...something else that Dean wasn't particularly keen on thinking about. He recognized what was left of the clothing, though. 

The mess they were staring at, were standing in, had once been a person—namely, _Castiel_. And in the middle of it all stood Sam, pristine and unscathed; not even a drop of blood on his worn shoes. 

“Lucifer,” Dean growled, stepping forward and ready to charge the brother-snatcher. But a hand clamped around his bicep, holding him in place. He was prepared to pull away, to demand that Gabriel let him go...but the solemn look on the angel's face made him falter. 

“What?” he asked huskily, the pit of his stomach dropping out. 

Gabe's eyes narrowed, never leaving the figure mere feet from them. “That isn't Lucifer.”


	7. Waiting For the Right Time.

Sam stared blankly at the puddle that was once his friend. 

_Did you feel that?_ Lucifer whispered behind his eyes. _Did you feel that power?_

He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. He'd just killed Cas. _Cas_ , for Christ's sake! One moment he'd been grasping at the other's coat desperately, and the next...the next....

_You popped him like a grape_ , the voice goaded gleefully. _With only a thought. I didn't know you had it in you, Sammy._

“Don't call me that,” Sam said aloud, releasing a shuddering breath as he swayed on his feet. 

_Sammy._

“ _Don't_.” The young man closed his eyes and shook his head. “ _Don't_ call me that.”

_Sammy?_

“I said stop!” Sam shouted, bringing his hands up and pressing them to his ears. A lot of good that would do—the voice he was trying to block out was in his head.

_Sammy! Sam, stop it! It's Dean! It's me! Cut it out!_

Sam's eyes snapped open. His hands were crushing his brother's throat. 

0 o 0 o 0

Dean didn't believe Gabriel. _Couldn't_ believe him. Sam didn't do things like that. 

Sam did things like go to college and get a really hot girlfriend. Things like wanting more for himself than some crummy life killing monsters. Things like giving up all these great things he had going for him for his older brother—for Dean. 

Sam did not do things like kill friends, unless there was something absolutely necessary about it.... But Dean could see. He could see the look in Sam's eyes, the way the young man held himself, the familiarity in his face—everything he'd noticed about _Lucifer_ had reverted back to Sam. 

And something was still wrong. 

Sam's lips were moving. He was muttering something.

“Sammy,” Dean said timidly, stepping forward. He didn't mean to say the childhood nickname—more often than not, he _never_ meant to say it. Sam hated it—then and now. But Dean could still remember a time before hunting and moving from town to town and living out of shitty motels. Their mother had called him that. Calling the younger man _Sammy_ wasn't so much to annoy—though it was a bonus—as it was to soothe his brother...and sometimes himself. 

“Don't,” Sam hissed in a tone so strange that Dean actually faltered. “Don't call me that.” There was no way in hell _that_ could be Sam. 

“Sammy?” He couldn't help it. That damn name—he couldn't get it off of his tongue. And if it was the only thing making Sam respond at the moment, then he was just going to have to chance that it jolted the younger man out of whatever trance he was in. 

“I said stop!” Sam shouted so fiercely that Dean _did_ take a step back. The younger hunter's hands came up and covered his ears, a desperate look on his face. Was he trying to shut Lucifer out? … Or Dean?

“Sammy!” Dean said forcefully, using the older brother voice that Sam had always listened to when they were younger. Granted it didn't work as often nowadays, but it was worth a shot. He took two firm steps forward, blood sloshing beneath his boots. _Sorry, Cas._

“Sam, stop it!” He wrenched Sam's arms down and grabbed the young man's shoulders. “It's Dean!” 

Sam's hands flew to Dean's throat, wrapping firmly but using little pressure. 

“It's me!” Dean continued quickly, shaking the young man. “Cut it out!” 

Sam's wild gaze suddenly focused on him, his breath hitching in his chest as his grip on the older man fell away. “Dean....”

Resisting the urge to pull the other into a hug, Dean took a deep breath and held it. “Sam,” he said reluctantly, wanting to say so much but knowing there was one thing he had to ask first, “do you...do you have a hold of him?”

Sam blinked and held a hand up, wavering on his feet. “Y-Yeah...Maybe....”

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean said gruffly, “you'd better be _sure_. We can't afford—” 

“I've got him, Dean,” Sam snapped, having to close his eyes and shake his head. “Sorry... He's strong... I can feel him, his anger.” His eyes opened slowly, and he looked to his brother pleadingly. “Dean, please... You have to go. It's not safe.” 

“I'm not leaving you,” Dean replied with a shake of his head. “We need to talk.”

The younger man let out a hysterical bark of laughter. “ _Talk_?” he demanded. “I don't think now is the time to—” 

“How could you say yes to him?” Dean interrupted, betrayal and hurt lacing his words. Sam took a step back, wincing as if his brother had hit him. “All this bullshit we've been through, all the fighting we've been doing to keep this from happening.... What the hell happened, Sam?” Dean's voice was cold, distant. “Did you give up on us? Or _me_?”

With a withering look, Sam shook his head. “I didn't want to,” he said brokenly. “He...He got to me. He was... _everywhere_. In my head, telling me... _showing_ me....” The younger man closed his eyes and shuddered. 

“Told you what?” the other Winchester asked, dread building in his stomach. “Showed you _what_?”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, opening his eyes and setting a steady gaze on his brother. “Dean....” he said quietly, his tone bouncing off the walls. “You were dead.”

0 o 0 o 0

_One Week Ago_

Sam cradled his brother's lifeless body close against his chest. Again—it was happening _again_. Dean was dead in his arms, and he was helpless to do anything about it. 

“Dean,” he sobbed into the crook of Dean's neck fingers twisted into the fabric of the older man's bloodied shirt. “Dean, don't... _Please_ don't... Not again....” His stomach lurched as he realized that this was it—there were going to be no more second chances, no one to bring him back. 

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” a familiar voice said lowly. Sam did not have to look up to know who the voice belonged to. He'd heard it one too many times in his dreams, _feared_ it far too often while he was awake. 

But he was done now. 

He stayed perfectly still, his sobs stuck to the back of his throat as anger bloomed in his chest. “What do you want, Lucifer?”

“What I've always wanted, Sammy.” The young man's muscles stiffened. “What I've been waiting almost an eternity for.” 

Sam looked up into the face of the poor man that Lucifer had tricked and was now destroying from the inside out—the man who now housed the most dangerous being that the Winchesters had come up against. 

Smile wide and frightening, Lucifer finished with a whispered, “ _You_.”

He didn't expect to laugh, and judging by the look on Lucifer's face, neither did the body-snatcher; but he couldn't keep it from escaping, so he let it ring loose, loud and hysterical throughout the abandoned alleyway. 

“So what's new?” he asked bitterly after trailing off, scowling as he clutched his brother's body close. 

Lucifer bounced back quickly from the unexpected outburst and shrugged casually. “Not another Winchester death, that's for sure.”

Sam's hatred surged through his veins. He could feel the pulse of it behind his eyes. 

“You boys die and resurrect so often you should have your own Soap.”

“Been there,” Sam retorted in little less than a growl. “Done that.”

Lucifer's face contorted for a moment into anguish. “Gabriel always was one for the dramatics.”

“He was your _brother_ ,” Sam accused.

“And Dean was yours,” the other countered, face once again schooled into a calm expression. 

“I didn't _kill_ him.”

“May as well have. It was your idea to come here.” 

Sam had no words for this revelation. Was it true? Was he responsible for this? 

“I can fix it for you,” Lucifer continued quietly, making no movements when the young man's head snapped in his direction. “I can bring him back.”

“Why would you do that?” Sam demanded quickly, hoping the desperation he was feeling didn't show on his face. And then, suddenly, Lucifer was there beside him, crouching in the muck and damp of the alley.

“Because,” the other replied matter-of-factly, “it's what you want, Sammy.” The young man grimaced at the nickname. “I'm not in the habit of taking something without giving in return. And this, Sam—a gift like this deserves anything, _everything_ , your silly little heart desires.” Lucifer leaned in, stale breath misting in the chilly air. “When are you going to realize the inevitable is going to happen whether you want it to or not?” 

The young man closed his eyes, trembling as Lucifer pressed their foreheads together and placed a hand on the back of his neck to keep him from pulling away. 

“Come on, Sam. While there's still time to get everything. You. Want.”

Sam gasped when he felt the fallen angel's other hand slide over his own, the one clutching at Dean's bloodied shirt. 

“I can give you everything you've ever wanted from him—make him do things to you that you wouldn't _believe_.”

Opening his eyes, the young man turned his head away and looked down at Dean's slack face. It was already losing color; Dean was slipping further away. “Me for Dean?” he asked huskily.

Lucifer's hold on him did not waver. “You...” Blood-caked, cracked fingers ran through Dean's dirty hair. “...for your brother.”

Sam's breath hitched, and he strained his ears, listening to the sound of...nothing. No heartbeat beneath his fingers, no hot breath across his face. This was the only way. 

“How do I know?” he demanded. “How do I know you'll keep up your end?” 

Lucifer smiled. “Bound and sealed, Sam. A deal's a deal. Even demons hold to that.”

“I don't want him hurt.”

“Of course not.”

“Or killed.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“Not by you or _anyone_.”

“He'll be safe...as long as he stays with me. With _us_.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, the younger Winchester—the _only_ Winchester—made his decision. 

“Okay.”

Lucifer's right eye twitched in what appeared to be irritation. “Gotta say it right, Sam.” Sam hesitated, and the body-snatcher grit his teeth. “Say it, Sammy, or he can't come back.”

And there was nothing else he could say. There was only one word, one syllable, that would make everything right again. 

“Yes.”

0 o 0 o 0

_Present_

Dean frowned. Dying wasn't anything new for the Winchester brothers—even making stupid deals to bring each other back wasn't unheard of; it was _expected_ , as much as he hated to admit it.

But this... _this_ was just—

“It was stupid,” Sam said resignedly, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the other two. “But I'd do it again, Dean.”

The elder Winchester couldn't deny that he wouldn't have done the same. But dealing with demons was one thing. Harboring the devil willingly, without a whimper or a bang, was....

“You can't do this anymore, Sam,” Dean said carefully. “ _We_ can't do this anymore.” Sam's eyebrows drew together in confusion, his legs wobbling unsteadily. “Our souls have been through the cosmic rinse cycle more than enough times.”

“No.” Sam shook his head fiercely, looking away from his brother and clenching his fists. “No, Dean. If there's a way to save you, I will _always_ fight for it.”

“And when does it stop? Huh?” Dean demanded. “When is it enough?” 

He hated the words. Mainly because he didn't believe them in the slightest. Of _course_ he would always fight for his brother. Of _course_ he would use his last, blood-soaked breath to find a way to bring him back. 

Always. 

But Gabe was piping thoughts into his head as he spoke, keeping him talking, keeping Sam's anger rising. 

_Anger is good_ , the angel whispered into his mind. _Anger keeps him strong, keeps Lucifer at bay until we can fix this._

_You better fix it fast_ , Dean threatened, grinding his teeth. 

_You can't—_

“—fight this, Sam.”

_One day—_

“—it's gonna have to be over.”

“No!” Sam shouted, every bit as much as when he had been five-years-old and throwing a tantrum. “It isn't fair!”

“ _What's_ ever been fair, Sammy?” Dean countered quickly, no longer needing Gabriel's words to guide him. “The hunting? Mom and Dad? Jess?” He hated himself for the flinch that Sam gave. “We didn't have a say in _any_ of this. We got stuck with these lives. And running away from it obviously didn't change anything, did it?”

Sam swallowed hard, letting loose a few staccato-ed breaths before he was able to look Dean in the eyes again. “Except,” he said quietly, enough that the elder Winchester had to strain to hear him, “that we're the only ones left.” 

The pit of Dean's stomach fell out. Because he knew what was coming next. He'd thought the same thing every time he'd held Sam's broken, bleeding, or lifeless body. 

“It's just me and you, Dean.”

Dean steeled himself, taking in a deep breath. 

“Not anymore.”

But the voice was not Dean's. 

Sam whipped around to find Castiel standing mere inches from him, and the young man barely had time to wonder about the miraculous recovery before the angel's fingers snapped...and Sam was surrounded by a ring of holy fire.


	8. You Make Me Feel Like I've Been Locked Out Of Heaven.

Lucifer raged. 

And this time Sam couldn't hold him back—didn't try to. 

_You just keep trading cages, Lucifer_ , Sam said rather smugly, feeling the smolder of the fallen angel's anger in his gut. 

_They won't keep me here for long._

_We'll see about that._

Sam heard cracking, ripping—felt hot, wet pain.

_Yes_ , Lucifer murmured in a low, dangerous tone, _we will._

0 o 0 o 0

Sam shouted and fell to his knees in the circle of fire. His legs _crunched_ beneath him, settling at odd angles. 

“What's wrong? What's happening?” Dean demanded, stepping towards the circle of fire. “Sam?”

Cas was at the elder Winchester's side instantly, a hand on his shoulder. “Don't, Dean. It's Lucifer.”

Sam's head snapped in their direction as the name was said, hatred alight in his eyes. “I'll break him one bone at a time, Castiel.” As if to prove his point, Sam's right-hand thumb bent back with a loud _snap_. The young man grunted and grit his teeth, Dean fighting against Castiel's hold. 

“You son of a bitch! Leave him alone!”

Lucifer bared Sam's teeth. “Let me go.”

“Leave Sam, and you may go free,” Castiel said darkly, grip tightening on Dean's shoulder, though the young hunter made no move to break his hold. 

“Bullshit,” Dean muttered, snarling as Sam's wrist snapped. “Cut it out!”

“Let me go!” Lucifer repeated. 

“Sam. First.” Gabriel chimed in. 

Sam's gaze swept to the other angel, teeth gritting and lips pulled back in anger. “Gabriel,” he growled. Dean didn't recognize the voice—it definitely wasn't Sam's...and _that_ was possibly more frightening than anything that had happened thus far. 

“Luci,” Gabe greeted conversationally. “How ya been?”

“I killed you.”

Gabriel shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping forward. “ 'Kill' is such a strong word.” 

“ _Enough_!” Dean shouted. “You're out-numbered. Let Sam go.” 

“Out-numbered,” Lucifer said with an incredulous laugh. A gust of air burst from the center of the circle, from Sam's body, making the fire surrounding the young hunter flicker. It held, though, burning higher and more brightly as if in protest against the attempted escape. “Outcasts like you?”

“You should know better than most, Lucifer,” Castiel said coolly, eyes narrowing, “that those who have been cast aside often have the most to fight for.”

Lucifer trembled with anger. He stared hard at each of them, offering Dean a look that sent cold shivers up the hunter's spine, before opening his mouth wide and letting loose an unearthly noise that shook the entire building. 

Sam collapsed in the circle. 

0 o 0 o 0

_Guess things didn't turn out the way you expected them to_ , Sam said into the void. 

Lucifer hissed, and the void crackled. _You belong to me, boy. I_ will _have you. You can't stop it._

_Yes, I can_ , the hunter argued. _And I will. Because I have something you don't._

_Dean_ , the fallen angel spat. _He'll be mine, too, soon enough._

_Not while I'm alive._

Lucifer laughed, but the sound was further away than it had been before. _I'll be back for you, Sam._

_I'll be waiting, Lucifer._

0 o 0 o 0

“Sam?” 

Dean's desperate voice broke though the dark, and Sam lurched toward it. His lungs dragged in a slow, ragged breath, surprisingly void of pain. 

“Dean?” he wheezed, coughing against the dust and ash in his throat. There were arms around him, warm and steady and familiar. Turning his face, he met soft fabric, breathed in his brother's comforting scent. 

The hold around him tightened. “I got ya, Sammy.” Dry, cracked lips pressed briefly against his temple as he slowly began to slip into unconsciousness. “I got ya.”

0 o 0 o 0

Dean looked up. Castiel and Gabriel were standing side by side, staring at one another intensely as if having a silent argument. 

The young hunter's anger flared. He prepared himself for the worst, sure that there was some sort of smiting in his and Sam's near future. Or worse—what if they separated them? Sent Dean back to hell? Locked Sam away so that Lucifer couldn't get to him?

“Quit thinkin' so loud, Dean-O. The grown-ups are trying to talk.” Gabriel smiled cheekily at him—not reassuring in the least. 

“We would never allow such things to happen to you or Sam,” Cas said slowly, as if he was still having another conversation entirely. 

“Why am I having a hard time believing that?” Dean muttered, his voice echoing in the large expanse. 

Castiel turned fully towards him, shoulders squaring in that _you-should-show-me-some-respect_ manner, and Dean's fingers clenched the fabric of his brother's shirt just a little bit tighter. 

“Dean Winchester,” the angel said, his tone clearly demanding the hunter's full attention, “you have asked me to have faith when I believed the worst of you and your brother.” Unblinking blue eyes held him captive where he sat hunched over Sam. “I have shown you that faith. Now I must ask you to grant me that same courtesy.”

It wasn't what Dean had been expecting. Cas' words were a genuine _request_ , not a command of any sort. And the angel continued to stare at Dean, as if waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said quietly, head bobbing in a slight nod. “Sure.”

Casitel nodded his approval, only taking his eyes from Dean when Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Well, kids,” he said, grin in place, “it's been fun. But it's time to fix what's broken.”

“Broken?” Dean asked hesitantly, gaze shifting between the two angels—though for Gabriel, _angel_ was definitely under loose terms.

“Gabriel has made a suggestion that I believe will benefit us all,” Castiel said carefully, as if giving the plan another thought as he spoke. 

“What _suggestion_?” Dean eyed the Trickster warily as both angels approached them. 

“You'll like this one, Dean-O.” Gabriel's teeth glinted as his grin widened. “Very _Back to the Future_.”

It didn't take long for the reference to settle in, and the eldest Winchester's gut twisted uncomfortably. “You...You're sending us back?” 

“More like erasing time,” the Trickster amended, swagger coming to a halt less than a few feet from the brothers. “Don't worry. I've done it before.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied hesitantly, frowning as Sam stirred restlessly but remained unconscious, “I've heard. And we all know _that_ turned out real well, don't we?” His tongue felt thick and gluey in his mouth as he swallowed. “Will we remember?” His gaze darted between the two. “Any of it?”

“You mean your wildly inappropriate, incestuous, lovey-dovey feelings for your little bro?”

Dean winced. There was no getting around that description...but— “Yeah.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Do you want to?”

Oh, yes. Yes, he did very much. He didn't think he could live never knowing that he'd finally been able to let go, to release something that had been building for years, to feel _accepted_ despite of it—at least by Sam, for a while. Putting that particular genie back in the bottle would only make things worse. 

Then again...what about Sam?

Dean took a moment to look at his brother, to study the lines of pain and exhaustion on his face. Would Sam want to remember any of this? Could Dean knowingly erase his brother's mind and live with the consequences?

“Time's up, Dean,” Gabriel said, tone uncharacteristically soft. The young hunter looked away from Sam to find the Trickster crouched down beside him, a forced, solemn smile on his face. “What's it gonna be?”

Dean swallowed and dragged in a shaky breath. 

0 o 0 o 0

_Two Days Ago_

“Dude, you seen my shampoo?” 

Dean started, the newspaper in his hands falling to the floor. His eyes swiveled wildly, taking in the familiar, tacky décor of the motel room where everything had started...where their lives had begun to unravel. 

It was morning. He could smell coffee and breakfast—the same coffee and breakfast that had gone untouched the morning after their scuffle with Lucifer's demons because...because....

“Dean?”

The elder Winchester jumped again, gaze on the young man across the room. 

Sam. 

Sam with his shaggy brown hair and bright, calculating eyes . Sam with his worry lines and small, hopeful smile. Sam with stitches lining his brow and looking a little worse for wear but otherwise—

“Sammy?”

The younger hunter's eyebrow twitched, and Dean caught the slight wince before Sam spoke. “You okay, Dean?”

“Uh....” Dean cleared his throat, swallowed. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure?”

_No_. He forced a smirk. “You should keep better track of your girl products, Bitch.”

Sam scoffed. “Jerk.” The young man snatched up a bottle of shampoo from Dean's duffel and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Dean sucked in a tight breath and held it, releasing it slowly as he bent to pick up the fallen newspaper section he'd dropped. When he rose, there was a smiling face across the table from him. 

“Jesus!” he exclaimed as hushed as he could, gaze locking on the bathroom door for any signs that he'd alerted his brother. The sound of the shower starting melted the tension from his muscles, and he sighed in relief, turning back to the unexpected guest. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in,” Gabriel said with a nonchalant shrug. Two candy bars appeared in his hand, and he slid one across the table, unwrapping his own and taking a large bite before speaking again. “Figured you might have a question or two.”

Dean huffed. “ _Or two_?” he asked mockingly. 

The angel rolled his eyes, sitting back in the chair and making a _go ahead_ motion. 

With another hesitant glance at the bathroom door, Dean took a shallow breath. “Who remembers?”

Gabriel made a show of mulling the question over. “Me and you, of course. Luci, obviously. Can't pull the wool over big brother's eyes, you know.” He took a thoughtful bite of his candy. “And Cas.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but the angel waved a hand and shook his head. “Trust me. He's better off knowing.”

The young hunter scowled. “How is he—How are _we_ better off with him knowing?”

Gabriel swallowed the candy in his mouth and set down the rest. “Do you really want to go through that again? Him finding out about the two of you?” Dean remained silent. “Because he'll find out, eventually. He's an angel, Dean-O. Sure, he's back to being human again, but—”

“Cas is human again?” Dean interrupted. 

“What part of 'erasing time' didn't you understand?” Gabriel whined, looking back to his half-finished candy as if reconsidering it. 

Dean's heart fluttered. “So Sam is still—”

Gabriel waved his hand again, dismissing the thought before it was even formed. “No. Sammy is the good old loveable moose that he always was. Luci can't touch him unless he says yes again.”

“But he _did_ say yes,” Dean argues. “I was dead. _Last night_.”

“Paradoxical loophole,” the Trickster said with a bit of smugness in his tone. “Can't use the same 'yes' twice, and can't take back what's already _technically_ been paid for—i.e. why you're still alive and kicking. And since Lucifer _remembers_ —”

“He can't get Sam,” Dean finished, relief rushing through his veins before his next question surfaced. “Did Cas know? That he would be human again?”

A strange look crept its way over Gabriel's face. “Yes,” he replied simply, though his tone implied much, much more. 

“And he still....”

“Guy's got a soft spot in that dirty trench coat for you boys.” The Trickster's grin was back, but it was...different. Changed, somehow. 

Dean didn't quite care enough to reflect on it. They guy had killed him a hundred times, after all. 

“And Sam?” The young man's mouth went dry, his hands beginning to tremble despite the grip he had on the table. “He doesn't....”

“Doesn't seem like it, does it?” Gabriel asked, his voice holding something mischievous, curious. 

Dean's stomach plummeted. _No_. No, he would not be disappointed. This was good. Sam didn't need shit like this right now. He didn't need his older brother pushing his slimy feelings all over him, mucking up their lives more than they already were. Dean could keep this to himself. He _could_. 

“Not yet, anyway,” Gabriel said as an afterthought. 

The words took a moment to settle in, and when they did, Dean's insides did back flips. “What?” he managed, sounding like a complete idiot even to his own ears. 

The angel leaned forward, his mouth a strict line and his eyes burning holes into Dean's head. “Listen up, Winchester. You've got one shot at this. You screw this up, and you're on your own.”

Dean could do no more than nod, his breath held captive in his lungs as he waited for Gabriel's next words. 

“Sam's going to be out of that bathroom in about thirty seconds.” As if to prove his point, the shower suddenly shut off. “You've got one minute, Dean—one minute from the time he steps foot through that door to decide.” 

“Decide what?”

One corner of Gabriel's mouth quirked, as if the question were the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Dean felt his face burn. 

“Whether or not you want him to remember.”

The sink in the bathroom turned on, drawing Dean's attention, and the sound of Sam brushing his teeth filtered past the door. “How would I make him remember?” Dean asked absently, and when Gabriel didn't answer, he turned to look at the angel.

“You'll think of something.” The grin directed at Dean was more than a little lecherous. “My offer still stands, by the way.” At Dean's confused look, the grin widened. “Three-way, Dean-O. Think about it.” 

Gabriel barely had time to wiggle his eyebrows before the bathroom door opened, Sam stepping out into the room with a shiver as steam billowed around him. A towel was slung low on his hips, the thin material leaving little to the imagination—not that Dean had to imagine much....

“Dean?” Sam's voice tugged the older man out of his thoughts, and he found his brother watching him with concern. “You sure you're okay? You didn't hit your head last night or anything?” 

_One minute_ , Dean thought to himself. _Less than that. Shit._

A minute wasn't very long to make a decision—let alone convince Sam of anything. Hell, Dean had been trying to convince the kid that _The Creature From the Black Lagoon_ was based on a true story. 

And then, suddenly, there were fingers, long and slender, tightening around his arms, shaking him gently. 

“Shit, do you have a concussion?” Sam asked worriedly. He crouched down in front of Dean, towel riding up his thighs and water cascading down his chest. “I'm taking you to the hospital. Just let me—” He was pulling away, _leaving._

_No_. His only chance. He had to decide. _Sam. Sam!_

“Sam,” Dean said roughly, and the young man turned back, one hand still clutching Dean's bicep, the other on Dean's knee. The older man wasted no time, hands darting out and finding the side of Sam's face, the back of his neck, and tugging him forward into an abrupt, rough kiss. 

Sam tensed, grip tightening on Dean. He didn't respond, didn't move. And for the first time, Dean was the one to break the kiss, staring into his brother's wide, confused eyes, panting against the other man's parted lips. 

“Sam?” he asked tentatively. 

Something crawled into the younger hunter's gaze; pain, hurt, want. But not recognition. Not what Dean was so desperately hoping for. “I'm going to get dressed,” Sam said slowly, starting to turn away again. “Then we'll get you to a hospital.”

_No!_ “No!” Dean clamped his hands on his brother's shoulders, forcing the man to turn back, to lean into him. The older man parted his legs, drew Sam close, using his thighs to squeeze the other's hips, trap him there. “No, Sam, look at me.” He was breathing hard, could feel his cheeks warming but didn't care— _couldn't_ care. There was too much. He couldn't handle it alone anymore, wouldn't be able to hold this back. 

If Sam didn't remember....

“I'm looking, Dean,” Sam said patiently, quietly, as if waiting for more instruction. 

Dean released a shuddering breath, leaning his forehead against the other man's and closing his eyes. “Please, Sam,” he whispered, tears squeezing their way past his defenses and sliding down his face. “Please. Remember.”

Sam didn't move, didn't react, and Dean sobbed. He hadn't been able to do it. The time frame Gabriel had given him was surely up. Sam would never remember. And Dean...Dean would stay broken. 

“Dean?”

The older man pulled away, eyes still closed as he roughly hit the back of the chair. “I'm fine, Sam. I don't need a hospital.” 

Silence encompassed them until the younger man spoke again. “No, you don't.”

Dean cracked his eyelids halfway, unwilling to see the pity and loathing in his brother's eyes. What he found, however, was Sam's watery smile, lips trembling in an obvious attempt to hold his own sobs at bay. 

Dean drew in a sharp breath, releasing it in a staccato-ed gust. He opened his mouth, but the words were stuck to the back of his throat. 

Sam nodded anyway. “I remember,” he choked, his hands moving to Dean's thighs and squeezing, holding onto everything before it slipped away. “Dean, I—” 

Their mouths collided again, lips parting, tongues warring and sliding slick. Dean's hands bunched the towel at Sam's hips, tugging him forward. The younger man's fingers dipped beneath Dean's shirt, nails scraping up smooth, sensitive skin. They pulled apart long enough for Sam to peel the shirt up and over Dean's head, trapping his arms. 

“You sure?” Sam asked, smiling when Dean chuckled. 

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” 

Sam huffed and shook his head, helping Dean extract his arms from the shirt and tossing it aside. “I'm okay with it, Dean,” he said seriously, fingers curling around the other man's jean-clad hips. “I was _always_ okay with it. Even before...everything happened.”

Dean studied his brother. “How long?” Sam had been the one to ask last time—well, Lucifer. But Dean still had to know.

Sam's cheeks colored. “I started to notice in high school, I think. Maybe before that.”

Closing his eyes, Dean shook his head. “We've been so stupid.”

“We're still stupid,” Sam stated bluntly, shivering as the water droplets on his skin began to cool. “But I'm okay with that, too.”

The older man laughed, opening his eyes and drinking in the sight of his brother. “I know it wasn't you who said it, Sam,” he started quietly, “but you know I love you, too, right?”

Sam smiled. “Initiating a chick-flick moment, Dean? Not really your style.”

Dean snorted. “Take it while it's on the table, Sammy. Not gonna happen again.”

“Sure it won't.” The younger hunter leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. “But for the record, I _do_ love you.”

Smiling, Dean leaned in, arms wrapping around Sam's torso and squeezing so that their chests were pressed together. “Good. 'Cause we've got a lot of re-exploring to do.”

Their mouths met in hungry unison.


End file.
